


When You Got A Good Thing

by Mariss95



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariss95/pseuds/Mariss95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunny morning, light to chase the demons away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Got A Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday present for my sweet friend [Cassie](http://teenagewerewolveslunareclipse.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> The prompt was: Oliver as a house-husband (or stay at home dad, but house husband makes me think oldies style where he wears khakis and button up shirts as he cleans the house, and a "manly" house apron. i don't know, don't ask, my mind is weird) with four kids (three girls and one boy) and Felicity is in charge of A.R.G.U.S now.
> 
> Hope you guys like it!

The smell of cinnamon hits her the moment she walks through the door.

It’s little over six in the morning, sunrise just beginning to peak over the tall trees in their backyard, streams of warm light bathing the foyer as she cracks the door open as silently as possible. 

Her heels had been discarded to the floor of her car the minute she had stepped off the office, her treasured panda flats giving her feet a much needed relief as she drove home after what felt like forever. On days like that she wondered why the hell she even took the job, the weight of it feeling like way too much, a slew of distressing decisions after another, faulty results, casualties...

Yet Felicity knows that if she hadn’t taken that offer over five years ago some else would have; someone _worse_ , whose interests and moral compass equalled or even surpassed Amanda’s in terms of cruelty, all in the name of justice. 

Oliver had been their first option, the most sensible one too. After all he knew the agency, had a record with them; albeit shady, there was a background there. She can still recall how tense he had been that day, how terrified he was of becoming _her_. He’d fought to be a man in charge, keep it together for so long; still it hadn’t worked in QC, and he didn’t have the fight in him to try it in A.R.G.U.S. too. 

So he had turned to his wife, trusting her strength, her honesty, intelligence and grace made her more than qualified for the job. It hadn’t been an obligation, just a choice. Sometimes Felicity felt he thought way too much of her; others that unswerving faith in her and what she can do gives her enough strength to pull trough.

With his offer of staying at home with their one year old, she took the job, patching over what was left of the group and building up from there with integrity and _humanity_. He couldn’t be prouder of her.

Fast forward to half a decade later where the agency is as stable as it’s ever been -as it could be considering danger is it’s default playing field-. QC is under other capable hands, Walter’s firm leadership with his protege’s help. And the Green Arrow, well he’s still on the job with his ever present team who, working hand in hand with Captain Lance of the SCPD, keep the streets clean and the corrupt on a tight leash; their reputation alone making the evil quiver and shy away with just a warning. 

As far as the man in green himself is concerned, well right now he appears to be... baking?

Felicity stops any attempt of being stealth walking into her home when the sound of plates being shuffled reaches her ears, that rattle coupled with the sweet-smelling spice propelling her to the kitchen. 

There he is, Oliver in all his shirtless glory, toned back to her as he works on the kitchen counter.

“Morning,” he mumbles softly without turning back to see her. _There goes her attempt of sneaking in undetected_. As much as he supports her job, she still feels quite guilty over working late nights.

She pads her way over closing the distance until she’s behind him, her arms coming around to lay against his stomach, finding the cloth of his favorite apron instead of the familiar lines of muscle she’s still mesmerized by. What she prefers is a tough choice though, between her husband’s uninterrupted skin and the priced object their kids gifted him for father’s day a couple of years ago, ‘ _Our superhero_ ’ scribbled on the front in colorful paint together with three pairs of adorable handprints in varied sizes.

For mornings like this one she prefers the apron, Felicity thinks as she runs the pads of her fingers over the letters on the fabric, her smile widening at the memory of that paint-smeared day full of laugher when they the craft project was made. 

His chest rumbles under her touch as he must be replaying a similar memory, when Allie and little Tommy told him what they’ve done for him, beaming smiles and eyes full of mischief over the mess done that they’d failed to mention. 

Felicity takes a deep breath, and standing on tiptoes -since being on her flats he’s over a foot taller than her- she drops a featherlike kiss over the patch of marred skin on his back, just where his shoulder meets his neck.

“Morning, husband.”

Soft breath ghosts over the warm skin, her lips lightly caressing it again when goosebumps erupt. 

Her forehead falls against his back next, a comfortable silence taking over the room; blue eyes fluttering shut to let the demons out, taking his light in instead. 

Oliver seems to read her thoughts as usual, years around each other making them even more in sync that they used to be. 

A peaceful quiet reigns, minutes tick by as she breathes him in, warmth, sandalwood and cinnamon. _Cinnamon_.

A hand covers hers where it still lies around his waist, lightening her hold on him until she takes the cue and takes a step back. Oliver bends and swiftly takes the pan from the oven, fresh and toasty cinnamon rolls coming to view, their sweet smell magnified as they proceed to cool off on the marble table.

Once those are secured he turns around, a hand cupping her face tearing blue eyes away from the tasty treat to focus on his clear gaze, a slight trace of sleep over the edges telling her it must’ve been a tough night for him too. Yet a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, soft and carefree, widening her own at the sight, love overflowing deep within them both.

His face lowers until their lips are a breath away, noses brushing, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. It’s just a moment, as they take each other in, relishing in the moment, warmth and sweetness surrounding them in a new day; much the same, much has changed.

She takes the last step, tilting her face upwards and brushing her lips over his, not hesitant but not urgent either; though time isn’t their friend she now feels as if they have forever, the bands around their wedding fingers a pleasant reminder of it.

A soft touch is followed by another, known lips nudging the other’s until a nice pace is established, tender hands coming over hips, tracing lines up to his neck, lightly tugging him forward. An arm encircles her waist next, holding her up and flush against him; Felicity feeling grateful since her toes were beginning to complain the strain of reaching out to him.

Her tongue, smooth and graceful just as she is, caresses his own, lips gliding over each other keeping it gentle, deep and loving without crossing a line they can’t allow themselves right now. 

Just as he’s tethering at the edge of his restraint, soft padding footsteps sound from above, the creak of the stairs coming next as they approach.

Oliver leans back, the soft whimper escaping his wife’s lips in complaint painting a grin on his face. The sound reaches her ears soon enough and, taking a deep breath, she composes herself, though a rosy blush still taints her cheeks as their eyes meet before she turns around, an unspoken promise of _later_ passing through.

Soft curls come to sight as their six year old comes around the corner, golden hair shining with the sunlight streaming through the windows. Holding her hand is little Tommy, four year old bundle of mischief, big round blue eyes just like his mother, yet his sandy blonde hair is styled to look like his daddy, short and spiky. His personality though, that is a perfect combination of his godparents, Thea’s spunk and Tommy’s ever present joy; the one he’s fascinated with and learning about one story at the time. 

“Momma!” Their little boy yells when he spots her there and swiftly drops his big sister’s hold, the one he so often reaches for when needing guidance, and runs into Felicity’s arms. She barely catches him on time, his adventurous and reckless streak shining through in the way he lounges into people’s arms as if he were paragliding. 

“My baby,” she coos holding him tight against her chest; a new found lightness setting in lightening the burden of her job, one loving hug at the time.

“I’m not a baby anymore, momma. Katie and Bella are.”

He complains sounding quite grown up. As if on cue their twins begin mumbling over the baby speaker Oliver had on the kitchen counter; the Queen household coming alive. 

“I’ll get them,” Oliver offers dropping a sounding kiss on Allie’s cheek making her giggle, before climbing two stairs at the time to the nursery where the almost two year olds were sleeping.

Once Felicity manages to disentangle herself from Tommy’s pawns -he’s quite a mommy boy-, she begins setting the table, tying her work pony tail into a loose bun at the top of her head, mirroring the similar bundle of curls that her oldest sports on that sunny Saturday morning.

The trio moves around in a flurry around the kitchen making chocolate cocoas and fresh coffee, Allie swatting her brother’s hand when he tries to sneak a warm cinnamon bun before it is allowed. He doesn’t even look guilty, simply giggles in amusement and sticks his tongue out to her, action she counters on the beat. 

Felicity shakes her head at the sight, trying to be stern yet failing to keep a straight face when they are so adorably cheeky. Some days their dynamic remembers her of the one in the lair, between Team Arrow back when Roy was mischief king himself, Sara a troublesome middle ground, Diggle the stern hand whenever necessary. The times may have changed, kids and marriages coming into play, yet the fact they still keep being themselves at heart fills her chest with joy. 

Memories of barbecue sundays come to mind, birthdays and holidays when the ones that are away come around; Roy and a newly pregnant Thea from New York, Sara and Nyssa from wherever over the world they had settled in for the year, Dig and Lyla with their boy living just miles away -little Andy being one of Allie’s best friends despite the tree year difference-. 

“Momma, breakfast’s ready... you alright?”

Her curly angel calls hugging Felicity’s middle, worried lines drawing on her forehead as she studies her mother’s face. Apparently detective skills are passed around in genes too. 

Looking around Felicity’s eyes scan the room: kitchen a bit messy with dough from Oliver’s work; toys scattered on the floor but in a semi-tidy clutter by a corner; a colorful mantelpiece over the large wooden table in their back porch, overlooking the forest like land that they had bought right before getting married, the one where the kids laugher echoes in every day as they play in the sun. Her blue eyed boy is taking a bite of a stolen pastry under the table trying and failing to go undetected, his older sister still waiting patiently her reply as she drops soft kisses over her stomach as if trying to drive that darkness away. 

A soft creak to her right turns Felicity's attention to the stairs, where Oliver steps down carrying one twin in each arm making it look effortless -something she knows for experience isn’t-. Their eyes meet over the mat of hair of one of the girls who lies still fighting slumber against Oliver’s warm chest. 

Her husbands’ lips twitch upwards until he’s full blown beaming at her, clear eyes giving her hope that demons don’t have to take over your life, that there’s a way to fight them, put them to bed or smother them with love until they are just a cry buried deep within you. 

As he passes by them, leaning down to peck her lips softly one more time before walking outside where sunlight bathes the scene in a soothing glow, Felicity looks back down to her other saving grace, soft words leaving her lips oozing with warmth and peace.

“ _Yes_. Now I am, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, encouragement or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated :)


End file.
